The long and winding post. And I get schooled.

image from HERE

We had originally planned to stay in Parowan until Tuesday morning, but Roger got a call with an issue on one of his contracts that needed to be resolved quickly from the site. We figured if we left later in the afternoon and rolled into the valley that evening we would miss the Labor Day traffic. Our ride home from Parowan was ideal until we got to the winding hills just south of Camp Verde. The cars got closer and closer and slower and slower. Soon we were moving merely inches every few minutes. Now, patience is not one of my strong suits when it comes to traffic. I get antsy. I get claustrophobic. I sometimes start using swear words. But only ones in the Bible, mind you-- and usually not around the kiddos. Usually.
Roger helped pass the time by calling a friend for traffic updates. Eventually we established that we were behind 10 miles of traffic due to two fender benders. Ugh.
So there we were, at a standstill when both kids wake up. Danny wants to nurse, so I did the carseat lean. (You know what I'm talkin bout. One can only do that for so long). Soon Mo starts asking where we are and I'm just waiting for the whining to begin. I was starting to seriously lose my cool (Just remember--Traffic jams: Never my finest hour). So naturally, I start whining first. Roger starts brainstorming.

1. We could pull off the next exit, turn around, go back to the highway leading through Payson and hope that traffic is better. (we decide that would take just as long as waiting it out).

2. We could pull off the next exit and attempt to find a motel, since Roger's early appointment was on the west side, it would shorten his morning commute. (we decide that the new surroundings would make it hard for the kiddos to fall asleep and it would be an even longer night).

I wanted to give up. I wanted to pull over and give in. Throw our hands up and call out to the sky, "Okay! We get it! Life is crap sometimes and we've learned our lesson. Never try and have some fun-- we just pay for it later! Can't things ever just go my way? EVER?!?".

Yeah.
I was pretty much throwing a tantrum.
I felt bitter and angry.
I just wanted it to be easy. I wanted a shortcut, or some way to skip the painful part of getting through. There was no choice but to keep moving on.
And the light came on: Sometimes I just want a shortcut through my grief.
I want to tell myself, "You're totally over this. You got it. It's in the bag. Move. ON!"--and for it to be over. A closed chapter. The pain, a faint memory.
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While in Parowan, I randomly bumped into an old friend from High School. She still lives here in AZ but she was there with her husband on business. I looked at her kids playing on the playground. Her second youngest, a son, looked the same age as Mo. I asked her how old he was. Sure enough he and Mo were only days apart. She then told me her youngest just turned 18 months the day before. "He can go to nursery this week (at church)!"
"Oh really?" I asked. "What's his birthday?"
"March 4th".
And so I realized. Our boys would be going to nursery.
I told her about Sheldon and Thomas. She was incredibly sensitive. Very kind. It was a bitter sweet gift to realize that day they would be 18 months (had they been born full term). I'm sure to some, this all just seems like I'm creating drama. That it is torturous to mark all these milestones. But I don't know what else to do.
That night I sobbed into Roger's shoulder. I had felt it coming that week but didn't know what it was. Of course my body knew.
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Driving home Monday night I wanted a shortcut home. A shortcut through my grief. Thankfully Mo and Danny were perfection. In much happier moods than I was. "Look at all the cars, Daddy! Mommy, you see them? Ah-MA-zing!". Then he would babble on to himself, talking about all the people he was seeing. Danny looked like a happy, drunk, old man while he nursed. For almost 3 hours they were perfectly content--Even excited to see all the traffic. And dare I say, I started to enjoy myself. I enjoyed our conversation. I enjoyed that Mo was making me laugh and making Danny smile. It was a tender mercy of the Lord that my children were such angels. I think he knew I wasn't stepping up to the plate on this one. I'm embarrassed that I wasn't the one setting the example.

And so my family teaches me to find joy in the journey, even when the road is backed up and it feels like nothing can go right. There is joy to be found.